Till the Morning Comes
by airconditionedgypsy
Summary: A twist on the concept of Scabior capturing Hermione.
1. Chapter 1

The forest glows blue in the settling darkness. It won't be long now before it's completely dark, Scabior muses, and he suggests they suspend their snatching for the evening in favour of a bottle of whiskey and a fire. The others, Greyback, Michael and Floris agree readily, and they wander about some more until they find an open spot between a few large trees, which will protect their fire from the gale wintry winds.

"Reckon there'll be snow tonight?" Floris asks, as Greyback conjures up a fire and they gather round it, blowing on their frozen fingers and wiggling their nipped toes in their boots.

"I hope not," says Michael worriedly. "I've not got a thicker jumper 'n this one and I'm already bleedin' freezing." His comment is met with derisive laughter. Scabior brandishes a bottle of Firewhiskey and pops it open.

"Afraid of a wee bit of snow?" he says, bringing the bottle to his lips, "We should be so lucky. Snow muffles yer footsteps and makes others' easier to track."

And sure enough, with the bottle empty and the fire reduced to embers, the first specks of snow start to dance in the breeze, settling on their coats and in their hair. Floris tries to suppress a yawn, and the others have trouble fighting off the drowsiness brought by the warmth of the fire as well.

Scabior gets to his feet. "I'm going for a piss," he announces, to no response. He strolls through the forest for a minute or so, picks a tree at random and relieves himself. Snow is falling thickly and heavily now, and he lets his gaze wander over the already snow-coated forest, the glistening trees and the dappled moonlight on the forest floor.

Suddenly, a blue light pops up in the distance, flickering as it seems to – yes, it's becoming bigger. Scabior zips up and hides behind the tree, watching as the light gets closer and closer, appearing and disappearing. His fingers close around his wand.

Eventually he can distinguish a human figure behind the light, and sees how the light briefly disappears whenever they pass a tree. He squints, the figure moving closer still. With but a few yards between them he sees that it's a girl, her face eerily illuminated by the blue flames she's carrying in a jar. She stops in her tracks, looks about her, he can read the trepidation on her face. She stops in her tracks and looks about her. The moment her back is to him, he steps out from behind the tree.

"Lost, are we?" She spins on her heel and abruptly drops the jar, which shatters on a rock, the flames quickly dying in the snow. Her hand goes for her wand but he is much quicker – "Silencio!" - and swiftly casts a body-binding curse. He walks towards her, heaves her over his shoulder and picks up her wand. "Hush, love," he sings as he picks his way among the trees back to the camp, her hanging limply over his shoulder as though she were dead.

When he enters the camp eyebrows are raised in unison.

"A little lamb lost," Scabior says, giving a pat on the back of her legs. Greyback jerks his head towards the tent. "We'll deal wiv 'er tomorrow." Scabior nods and makes for the tent in which they keep their captives. He waves his wand, lighting the lamps, and puts her down on a chair, then takes a seat opposite her. For the first time, he sees her face, and she's quite lovely, with her fiery eyes burning into his.

He lets out a low whistle. "_Well. _What were you doing out there all alone, beautiful?" She squints at him and he laughs, slapping his forehead.

"Oh, of course! Be much nicer if you could talk back to me, eh?" He lifts the silencing charm and she instantly opens her mouth to scream, but stops short as he holds up his wand.

"Ah, ah, ah... wouldn't do that if I were you, love..." He grins. "My mates out there won't hesitate in silencing you, and besides, who's gunna hear you, eh?" She closes her mouth and adopts what she evidently sees as a dignified silence.

He smiles. "That's better. Now, why don't you do me the pleasure of telling me your name?" When she doesn't respond, he sighs. "Go on, don't make me force it out of you." She remains silent, though the corners of her mouth tremble. He stands up from his chair, walks towards her and grips her long hair, forcing her head backward. She gasps in pain, her terrified eyes staring into his as he smiles down at her.

"Now then, my lovely." He strokes her cheek with the tip of his wand. "What do they call you?"

She gulps, and says weakly, "Penelope Clearwater." He doesn't let go.

"Bloodstatus?"

"Half-blood."

"Now, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" He relinquishes his hold on her and returns to his seat.

"It's not very polite to try and ignore me like that, especially since your fate is in my hands now."

"B-but you wouldn't do anything to half-bloods, would you?" Her voice is shaking. He crosses his legs and cocks his head to the side.

"If it turns out you're actually a half-blood, then no... if it turns out you haven't been completely honest with us... well." He smiles, inwardly hoping he's scaring her with this talk. She's so lovely when she's this scared; her lips parted in fright, her eyes large with shock.

"No need to worry, love, we won't decide what to do with you until tomorrow. And I do hope you're telling the truth," he adds, "it would be such a shame to turn the likes of you in for a meagre five Galleons..."


	2. Chapter 2

I do apologize for the delay and the shortness of this chapter. The hardships of moving house!

Well, I've really done it now. Ron and Harry must be worried sick. They warned me not to go out but I just had to. I needed some alone time; I've bloody well got it now.

He's left me. Once he was outside I heard him cast every charm I know to ensure that I won't escape from the tent, plus a few I didn't recognise. It's not looking good. I've checked for every possible escape route, but found none. I've tried to Disapparate but I couldn't, surely the work of the protective spells.

"Get some sleep," he said, with a wink. I can feel my stomach turning just thinking about it. It's all just so horrible. Who knows what they might do to me? Everything, even being spat in the face and called a Mudblood a hundred times over, I'd gladly take instead of that creepy, suggestive fashion in which he treats me.

I'm incredibly uneasy. I wish I knew what time it was. It cannot be close to dawn yet, it was late in the evening when they captured me. I suppose I've got hours to kill, to fret and fidget and dread what they are going to do with me.

I wish I had my wand. I can do silent spells, I was the best in our year... but without a wand...

I concentrate on one of the lamps sitting on the table. "Nox," I say, loudly and clearly.

Nothing happens. It doesn't even flicker.

"Nox," I repeat, staring hard at the lamp, _willing _it to go out. After a few minutes I give up. I wouldn't normally, but the situation I'm in, the combination of exhaustion and despair just about drives me to tears. Get some sleep... I wish I could.

There's a noise outside; a whisper, and I feel as though a gentle breeze wafts over me.

What the-

The tent opens and a man steps in. I recognize him from the fight back at Hogwarts, the night Dumbledore died. It's Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf, and he gives me a leer that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in fright. I get up from my chair and take a few cautious steps back.

"What do you want?" I ask, but when I open my mouth no sound comes out – _he's silenced me._

Greyback bares his teeth in a grin and edges closer. "Come come, dearie, don't be shy... let's see that pretty neck of yours-"

He lunges forward and I topple over, falling down hard on my back with him on top of me. I struggle and thrash in sheer panic. Greyback just grins down at me, pinning my arms to the floor, and I smell his filthy breath; his greasy, straggly hair tickles my face.

"You filthy little mudblood," he breathes, and I wince at the smell. "You're not going anywhere until I've had you – at least you're good for _something_-"

He reaches down and his long nails scrape over the fabric of my jeans, and I see fit to kick up one of my legs as he sits crouched over me. I hit home and he roars in pain, sitting up and stretching out one huge hand to close around my throat, the other grabbing at his crotch. I try to scramble away but it's no use, his grip is too strong.

_BANG. _A blow on the side of my head that nearly makes me faint. Everything goes black and lights pop before my eyes. I stop struggling momentarily and he worms his hand down my pants, leaving angry red scratches while doing so.

"What the _hell _is going on?" I can dimly see a shape in the opening of the tent, which I recognize as the Snatcher who captured me. Greyback stops his fumbling and glances around. The other looks at the scene in front of him, his face twisted in anger.


	3. Chapter 3

With a sigh he lies down on his bed and stares at the flickering spots of light, projected on the canvas by the wafting flames in the lamps. Across from him Michael is sitting on the edge of his, lazily waving his wand about , toying with a mouse suspended in mid-air. He makes it do tricks, changes its colour, enlarges it, and finally gives the Cruciatus curse a go. Loud screeching penetrates the silence and Scabior sits up straight.

"Stop that," he snarls. Michael, avoiding his gaze, shrugs, and continues to torture the mouse. Scabior's eyes narrow; evidently he is doing it just for the sake of annoying him. Spending week after week shacking up with the same three guys has taken its toll on his nerves. He draws his own wand and kills the mouse off, briefly lighting up the tent with a green flash. Michael glares at him, heaves an annoyed sigh and lies down to stare into nothingness.

Scabior flips onto his stomach, resting his chin on his crossed arms, and closes his eyes. He thinks of the girl, thinks of her eyes, her hair, her wavering voice, her flowery perfume which he caught a whiff of as he bore down upon her. He is most certainly infatuated, and he curses himself for it. If only there was a way to make her feel the same.

A thought strikes him and he opens his eyes.

He walks slowly towards the tent, inadvertently running his hands through his hair. The captives' tent is completely silent, but he sees shadows moving on the canvas. A knot seems to form in his stomach and he quickens his pace. He parts the canvas with vehemence and sees Greyback's back, his hand clasped over the girl's mouth.

"What the hell is going on?" he says slowly, though the scene unfolding in front of him tells him all that he needs to know. Greyback's assault triggers something in Scabior. As his eyes dart back and forth between Greyback's contorted sorry-mate-you-know-how-I-get-grin and the girl's expression of blank terror, he decides then and there that he wants her for himself. Inexplicably, illogically, she has made her way into his constant thoughts, just now as he was lying in his tent unable to sleep. She's lovely and she smells wonderful and _he found her first._ He curses Greyback, for taking liberties with a girl that means nothing to him. Finders keepers!

Scabior crosses his arms and looks at the pair, the werewolf still holding her in a tight grip. "I thought you said we'd deal with her tomorrow?" he says, curling his lip. Greyback's eyes narrow, as though he's betrayed him.

"Yes," he replies slowly. They stare at each other in silence.

"Leave the girl alone," Scabior says, eventually. Greyback lets out a short, derisive laugh.

"Don't think you can tell me what to do."

"We have a job to do," replies Scabior sharply. "Now let her go or I will fish yer spine out of your arsehole and show it to you!"

Greyback looks at her face, licking his lips, then resentfully at Scabior. But he gets to his feet, releasing his grip on the girl, and she gasps in relief.

The werewolf being bigger and most of all stronger than himself, he cannot help but gulp slightly as Greyback stands up and walks toward him. Scabior remains fixed to his spot by the opening, and when Greyback passes by him on his way out, calmly looks him in the eye without saying anything. The werewolf bares his teeth for a second, then disappears. Scabior watches his retreating back, inwardly proud of the power he has over his intimidating colleague, then strolls further into the tent and takes a seat.

With every step he takes she moves further away from him, curling up in a corner of the tent. He sighs.

"I'm not going to hurt you." She mistrusts us all now, he thinks, Greyback has ruined everything.

She gives a derisive snort and rests her forehead on her knees. When she looks up again, after a slong silence, he sees tear tracks on her cheeks glistening in the lamplight.

Scabior contemplates her, this tear-eyed beauty, so close and yet so far. He feels a sharp pang of loneliness and wishes he could protect her and keep her for himself, always.

Wake up, you idiot. You have a job to do, remember?

Offer her a drink spiked with Veritaserum, he can always do that. Quick, easy and successful. He'd know her real identity within seconds.

But does he want to?

He gets up without a word, goes to collect a cup of water and returns to the tent. He puts the cup on the table, then sits back down again. She stares at it with suspicion.

"Drink it," he urges, with a gentle smile. She snorts again.

"I'm not thick. You've put something in that."

He shrugs. "Suit yourself." He departs, making sure to leave a gap of a few inches in the tent opening. He doesn't return to his tent, but hangs about the campsite, going back every few minutes to see what she's doing. She is standing by the table, holding the cup to her nose and sniffing it gingerly. He smiles to himself. She swallows, he sees, with difficulty; she is thirsty. But she does not drink it. She picks it up and pours the contents on the floor, but the minute she puts it back the cup refills itself. Scabior grins at her frustrated expression. She bites her lip, then folds her arms and sits down in the corner again.

He rolls his eyes, points his wand and whispers, "Imperio!" Under his command she instantly empties the cup. He makes her sit on her chair again. He is so very tempted to keep her this way, so lovely and obedient... but there would be no fun in it, he decides. He lifts the curse, tucks his wand away and goes in.


End file.
